Once a Princess

Chapter 39

Tanya wasn't sleeping well at all that night. She missed the roll of a ship beneath her after being at sea so long, but that wasn't the only reason, not by a far cry. She simply had too much anger simmering inside that she hadn't released even a little bit. So it was no wonder the tiniest noise kept waking her, and no wonder she was alerted and wide awake again when someone turned the handle on her door.

Unfortunately, she didn't recognize what this sound was. And the fire in the hearth, which had blazed earlier to warm the whole room, had burned down to mere ashes now, giving off no light at all. So she couldn't see the door slowly opening when she tried peering into the darkness around her, nor was there a creak from the welloiled hinges.

After a few moments during which she didn't hear anything else, she lay down and tried getting back to sleep for the umpteenth time. But then there was a creak, a very definite creak, in one of the floorboards too damn near her bed.

Her eyes flew open again, and unlike the other times she'd been awakened by sounds that didn't alarm her, this time she was frightened, and was reaching for the knife she kept under her pillow, a habit from her days in the tavern that she could be glad she hadn't given up, even on the ship. But no sooner did her fingers touch the blade than the pillow was yanked out from under her head to land square on her face.

For a horrible moment Tanya thought she was being deliberately smothered. It didn't take her long to realize that her first guess was accurate. Someone didn't want her to breathe, was smashing the pillow down on her face so hard she really couldn't breathe.

It was the shock that someone was actually trying to kill her, that had her paralyzed with fear for nearly a minute, even though she was gripping a knife in her hand. And it was the pain starting in her chest that finally set her to motion. She could barely move though because her body was trapped under thick blankets, her hand with the knife in it trapped beneath the pillow where it was being pressed down on both sides of her face.

Her free hand found only an arm that wouldn't budge when she pulled at it, because whoever it belonged to was leaning his full weight into the pillow. She pulled at the pillow next, but it wasn't moving either. Her last option was to get to the knife with her free hand, and, thank God, she found the blade of it extended beyond the pillow's edge. But her other hand was still gripping it, and she couldn't open those fingers to release it, because that hand was right under the one holding the pillow down. She tugged at the blade, turned it around, wiggled it, but the grip she had on the handle with her trapped hand was just too tight. And she was running out of time, a streak of weakness racing along her limbs as the pain in her chest became excruciating.

All she could do then was what she wouldn't do under any other circumstances. Somehow she pushed that blade up and back toward the arm above its probably breaking her fingers to do it, but she didn't feel that, because she was feeling too much pain everywhere else, and was losing consciousness when the pillow was released on that side of her face. Enough air rushed into her lungs to keep her conscious, and with her other hand released now and the knife still somehow in it, she made a faint swipe at her attacker. She struck nothing, but she was able to steal another breath before he tried smashing the pillow down again. Only he didn't. He knew she had something sharp that she'd stuck him with, and he'd moved back from it.

When she realized the pillow had been released altogether, Tanya didn't even try pushing it off her face, she just rolled out of bed before she could be stabbed or shot, now that the nonmessy attempt had failed. Still gasping painful breaths, she landed on the floor tangled in her blankets, in no condition to fight if she had to.

She'd never screamed in her life, except maybe recently in a rage, but she decided this might be a good time to start, simply because she didn't know what her attacker was doing now, couldn't see him, and was still terrified. Nor did she want that son of a bitch getting away, and she wasn't quite up to chasing him herself yet. But trying to scream after she'd almost been suffocated was no easy task. She tried it three times before the sound finally came out loud enough for it to do her any good.

In less than a minute, her door was thrown open, but it was help arriving, not her attacker leaving. Stefan was first through the door, with Serge right behind him carrying a lamp. They stopped short when they saw only her head poking up from the other side of the bed. But Tanya ignored them for the moment, taking advantage of the light to scan the room. She even looked under the bed, but there was no one there.

"Do you always scream when you fall out of bed?"

The voice sounded so disgusted, Tanya stiffened. Was that really what Stefan thought, that she'd merely tumbled out of bed? "No, I save my screams for murder attempts," she said sarcastically and then dismissed him and looked toward Serge, who had set the lamp down and was lighting another. "If you hurry, you might find whoever it was who just tried to kill me, before they leave the house."

With Tanya calmly sitting there on the floor, only her head visible above the bed, and with that bit of sarcasm she'd tossed out, it was no wonder even that Serge asked doubtfully, "Are you serious, Princess?"

She still wasn't breathing normally yet, so her "Very" came out as a very loud sigh, but both men moved the moment she said it.

In seconds she was alone again, but she'd just happened to catch the glow that leaped into Stefan's eyes before he ran out of the room. She cringed, imagining that he was angry only at being put to the bother of searching for her wouldbe attacker, which he still probably doubted was real. And if they found no sign of him, that anger would likely be turned on her. As if she cared just now.

She let out another sigh, this one intentional, and dug her way out of her blankets, leaving them where they lay as she pulled herself up to sit on the side of the bed. That accomplished, she set her knife on the table beside the bed and began massaging her fingers. Amazingly, none were broken, but they were definitely sore from being pressed and bent by the knife handle, particularly her little finger and wrist. Her nose hurt, too, from being smashed, and her chest still felt as if it had burst and was merely patched back together. It would probably ache for days. But that was the least of her problems. Figuring out who hated her enough to kill her was the priority of the moment.

Naturally enough, the Stamboloffs came to mind first, but she had been assured they were all dead, so she let that possibility go as quickly as it had come. Her traveling companions she discounted, too. If one of them wanted to get rid of her, he wouldn't have waited this long. 1t would have been too easy to take her unconscious from her cabin and simply toss her into the sea, then suggest she had fallen overboard or even jumped.

But she knew of no one else here, and the only other people who knew of her existence were all in Cardinia. Of course, that didn't mean that someone from Cardinia couldn't have been waiting here for her arrival. After all, Sandor's man had been waiting here to bring him word of Stefan. Someone else could also have been waiting.

That supposition was logical enough, but she needed a motive. It came to her instantly. Someone didn't want her to marry Stefan. An enemy of his? But why should they care if he married or not? And it seemed as if everyone knew he hadn't wanted to marry her, so killing her would be doing him a favor... No, she wasn't going to suspect Stefan. Even if she thought him capable of murder, which she didn't, her instincts discounted him immediately. Besides, it was his duty to marry her, and his duty meant too much to him.

So if not an enemy of his, and she had none herself that she could think of… maybe some other woman who wanted to marry Stefan, but couldn't because of his betrothal to Tanya?

As soon as the idea of a woman entered her mind, she knew exactly who her attacker was. She had an enemy after all, but one so new, it was no wonder she hadn't thought of her first. Alicia. Hadn't the woman proved, by deliberately kissing Stefan in front of her, that she felt threatened by Tanya? And hadn't she taken the first opportunity she had to tell Tanya she was Stefan's mistress, just in case that kiss hadn't been obvious enough? Alicia was so worried that Stefan's affections would turn from her to Tanya, she felt she had to get rid of the competition. And she'd almost done just that.

It all fit, even why the attacker had given up as soon as Tanya had started fighting back. A man wouldn't have. A man would merely have grabbed Tanya back when she rolled away from him, or forced the knife away from her with his superior strength, or used some other means to kill her. But a woman only had the element of surprise as her advantage, and Alicia had lost that. Once Tanya had rolled off the bed, Alicia obviously hadn't thought she was capable of continuing the fight, and so prudently had got out of there — and slipped right back into her own room, which Tanya knew to be directly across the hallway from hers. And no one would suspect her, certainly not the men, because she was probably in her bed right now, pretending to be fast asleep.

Tanya was suddenly so furious, all her aches and pains were forgotten. That stupid woman! How dared she try to take Tanya's life, her life, just to hold onto a lover for a while more? Or would Stefan marry Alicia if he were free to do so? That would at least make this attempt understandable — but not forgivable. And Alicia wasn't getting away with it.

Tanya swept up the knife and headed for her open doorway, her eyes trained on Alicia's closed door across the hall. She was almost there, too, when Stefan appeared to block the way, bracing his hands high on the doorframe and giving her a look that said he didn't appreciate wasting his time.

"There was no one in the house, Princess, and all the doors were locked."

He didn't mention the windows and she didn't ask. Of course they had found no one. But did he have to sound as if that had been a foregone conclusion? The man didn't believe — nor had he believed moments ago — that she had had a harrowing experience. Did he think she had deliberately lied?

Before she could say anything in her defense, whether she would bother to or not, he snapped, "Where do you think you're going with that?"

His eyes had dropped to her knife. Her grip tightened on it, but her voice was perfectly calm when she replied, "I'm going to take care of this little matter myself, since you obviously won't."

He tried for a calm tone himself, but it came out more a growl. "Put that down and admit you merely had a nightmare. "

"I don't have nightmares."

He was getting exasperated. "Fine, we'll assume an intruder bothered you. We'll even assume he might still be around, even though we've searched through every... damn... room... in the house."

"Not all, you didn't."

"Your room is next to the stairs, so if anyone was here he would have gone that way, since all the other rooms up here are presently occupied. "

"Exactly."

His eyes narrowed at what he assumed she was implying, but he didn't address it. "It's over," he said with finality. "So either you can lose more sleep while I have a lock put on your door so you'll feel safe, or I can sleep in here the remainder of the night."

"Suit yourself. There's ample room on the floor. But I'm going to carve your mistress into little pieces first, so you'll have to excuse me for a few minutes."

She took one step, only to hear him command, "Stop right there! Did I hear you correctly? You think Alicia tried to do you harm?"

Did he realize he had just admitted Alicia was his mistress? She doubted it. And why should she care at this point? She'd already been told. Yes, but you were hoping that vengeful witch had been lying, missy, or at the very least that she was going to be his exmistress.

With the anger churning inside her came pain. It was a wicked combination that she could barely control.

"I don't think it, Stefan Barany, I know it. She was in this room when I screamed, or she sneaked out a moment before, but in either case—"

"Either case is an impossibility, you little liar," he cut in sharply, his eyes starting to glow again. "Because she was with me when you screamed!"

In the middle of the night? And he was only half dressed, she realized now, with no shirt, his trousers not even done up completely, as if he had put them on in a hurry. And Alicia had been with him?

It didn't occur to Tanya that Alicia had just been exonerated, which meant someone else had tried to kill her. She wasn't thinking about that now, wasn't thinking about anything except Stefan making love to another woman. Little wonder that she lifted her arm and threw her knife at him.